


A Quiet Night in Hell

by Fantine_Black



Category: X-Men (Alternate Timeline Movies)
Genre: Abuse, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Dystopia, Begging, Collars, Dark, Domestic Violence, Dubiously Consensual Blow Jobs, Force Choking, Human Charles, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Master/Slave, Mental Breakdown, Poor Charles, Post X-Men: First Class, Post-Nuclear War, Random & Short, Reluctant Sadist, Self-Indulgent, Slavery, Verbal Humiliation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-07
Updated: 2017-01-07
Packaged: 2018-09-15 11:53:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,410
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9233981
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fantine_Black/pseuds/Fantine_Black
Summary: It's like Herr Doktor - King Shaw! - has always said: they are children of the atom, and the nuclear holocaust only made them stronger. Some humans survive, true,  some even fight back, but soon they, too, will be conquered.In the meantime, as Shaw's best lieutenant, Erik enjoys his privileges - and his lovely human slave, named Charles.





	

**Author's Note:**

> There is really nothing very light about this fic. Especially Charles is not in a good place. Skip if this is not your cup of tea, I won't judge you!

He’s missed nights like this.

Of course, he can’t treat a slave too roughly. Their women might carry, and even the men aren’t completely obsolete – there are too many tasks that can’t be managed by machines, let alone assigned to mutant brethren.

Although that doesn’t really go for Charles. Erik doesn’t need a houseboy – in the field, he still often has to make do with rudimentary shelter, so the notion that he can’t clean his own boots is ridiculous. Besides, if he were to go on missions, Charles would almost definitely succumb to radiation sickness.

Erik doesn’t want that.

As for other forms of comfort –Mystique and Angel would gladly provide it, and even Azazel has made overtures. Strategically speaking, Charles would be much more useful as a party favour to their lowest ranks, the mutants so grotesque they won’t be breeding anyone.

(They’d be lucky to have him. The sounds that boy makes!)

But no. The boy is a gift from Herr D –King Shaw, and Erik shouldn’t treat such tokens badly.

At least, not without cause.

“What has you so riled up, my sweet?” he says to Charles a he sets down Erik's dinner.

The way Charles shivers, it’s fucking delightful. And warranted. Not only is the food late, it’s completely burnt.

Immediately, Charles folds to his knees.

“I am sorry, Erik. I – I got distracted. I shouldn’t have.”

He lets him sit there, just a tick, before he crouches down.

“No, Charles, you shouldn’t have. But since you did, you will tell me why.”

Charles gulps as Erik tilts his head up. “There was – news from Oxford. The correspondence course. I opened it too soon. I should have waited.”

“You should have waited indeed, my lovely.” He smiles. “But you know what they say. A boy’s ears are on his backside.” He strikes his face, and Charles topples to the side.

“Which shall it be?”

His eyes grow wide. “No, please,” he whimpers, “Erik, no -”

He stands up. “I haven’t got all night, boy.”

“Please let me make it up, please –”

Silly Charles, begging like that – he ought to know better by now. But ah, he is feeling magnanimous. Charles is a good boy, really. True, leniency can make humans sloppy, but eh – he’s beaten that out of him before.

“You’re spoiled, Charles,” he says, crouching down again to caress his face. “You’ve always been spoiled.”

He’s crying. “Please, Erik. Please.”

One moment, two, before Erik leans over.

“Will I let you suck my cock, then, Liebling?”

He looks up, eyes impossibly wide. “Yes, o yes, Erik, let me suck your cock, please-”

Erik laughs. “Oh, Charles, you’re such a good boy, I have half a mind to film it and broadcast it to the rebels. Would you like that? ‘Professor Xavier, distinguished former war hero, sucking mutant cock’?”

A tear slides down his face. “I want what you want, Erik, please –”

He touches his hair. “Well said, little whore. I’ll give you a treat.” He bends down, lips brushing against Charles’ ear. “Tell me, where do you want my cum?”

Charles looks up through his lashes, slightly paler than before, a bruise already blooming on his cheek. “In my mouth…” he says haltingly.

Erik crooks an eyebrow.

“On my face?”

He laughs. “Ah, Charles, you might just deserve it. Go on, then. Make me cum.”   

And by long abandoned G-d, the heat of him, lips around his head, pink tongue licking circles along a throbbing vein... He is so dedicated as he sucks, mouth soft and wet, and those sweet little sighs as he takes him in deeper - it may all have been worth it, Warsaw, Mama, Birkenau...

It is just too good, the way Charles makes himself surrender, tight lines under his collar slackening away, head bobbing softly, because he knows, accepts, that there is nothing he can do but Erik’s bidding. The slight tremble as he nuzzles and cups Erik’s balls, begging for a moment’s respite, tells Erik all he needs to know.

Charles is right to be afraid, of course, there is nothing stopping Erik from fisting his hair, fucking Charles’ throat until he chokes –

But not _that_ afraid. Charles has started crying, whimpering, trembling all over – which is decidedly unfair. Erik has been nothing but generous, endlessly indulgent –

Too indulgent –

He grabs Charles’ collar, snug around his neck, and tugs, hard. “Take it, you little bitch,” he growls, pushing his cock back into Charles’ mouth, holding him still as he's thrusting. “Unless you want me to show you what your kind has done to me? Well? Do you?” And Charles shakes no, but he can’t stop crying,  and that isn’t like him, what’s gotten into the boy? Still, it feels great, Charles’ muscles clenching around him,  and with one sharp tug on the collar he comes, shuddering down Charles' throat. He lets go, and drops Charles, who’s wheezing, couching and somehow still shaking.

One moment, Erik says nothing, only rearranges his clothes. Then he turns to his plate.

“This is inedible. Get me a sandwich, Charles, and be quick about it.”

Charles scrambles up, gasps for breath, and wipes his eyes. “Yes-Erik… Thank you-”

“Out!”

He kicks back, opens a beer, but still feels restless. What’s with Charles? Has one of his friends died or something?

And where is his sandwich?

Furious, he walks towards the kitchen. “Charles, if I don’t get my food right this minute- ”

There’s a clang of cutlery and a keen so desperate – he’s only ever heard it once before, in Herr Doktor’s office, just before – never mind, he’s only ever heard it once before, and no one should make that sound, not even Charles, and how dare he anyway, Erik has done nothing, absolutely nothing to cause this –

“Up,” he says, “up, I say –” as he walks into the kitchen and sees Charles kneeling among bits of bread and broken plate, make strange hiccupping noises and shivering, but he doesn’t comply, so Erik grabs a handful of hair – slightly too long, excellent– and drags him up, from the nape of his neck, though not without placing another hand in Charles’ armpit to relieve some of the pressure. Charles cries, but still his knees buckle, as if he’s refusing to let his legs support his weight.

Fine, be that way. He holds Charles steady using the metal in his collar –Charles splutters– and slaps him across the face with his other hand, tearing a badly stitched wound on his lower lip. “You lowlife, there are rations, you understand?”

“Hnng-” Charles says, but not much else, and Erik pushes him back to his knees, causing small cuts in Charles’ palms where he catches himself.“Eat up, then,” he says, pushing his face to the ground, “it’s all you’ll have in the coming days, I’ll teach you hunger – ” But Charles keeps crying, completely apathetic, curled up, and when Erik kicks him he flails, all the while still shivering and sobbing.

“Quiet,” Erik barks then, but may as well be talking to a chair. As a last resort, Erik crouches down and wraps his arms around Charles’ body, physically holding him still. “Stop it!”

Charles’ teeth chatter, head lolling against Erik’s shoulder, tears leaking down his face.

“Please –”

Erik digs in his nails. “Please what, Charles?”

“Please kill me…”

He pushes him forward into the debris – new cuts, he can feel the flow of metal – and spits:

“Coward!”

Another small whimper. “Master, I beg you –”

A kick to his back. "You'll call me Erik!”

Nothing but a tired sob.

Erik laughs. “You think he wouldn't know, Charles? You think he'd let you die? He decides who dies, Charles, you think I haven’t tried?" He feels tears pooling in his eyes. “I know I am a monster, but if he’d kept you - if he takes you back –” He grabs Charles' shoulders, stares into his eyes. “He'll hurt you if I won't, Charles, you’re better off with me..."

But Charles has fainted.

Great.

He scoops him up and lays him on their bed. Looks at his cuts.

New scars will keep him safe.

He comes back with a med kit, starts to dress his wounds, careful not to stitch too well.

He seals the last gash with a kiss.

At the touch, he feels Charles stir.

“Erik?”

He puts a hand over his eyes.

“Sleep, my lovely.”

He seems to want to protest, but as ever, Charles obeys.

Erik is a lucky man.


End file.
